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began to sob. The children, who had been wriggling with delight, quieted at once. |
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"Are you weeping because Papa is dead, Ian, or is there more bad news?" the girl, who was the elder, asked gravely. |
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Simon's daughter, Ian de Vipont thought, struggling to control himself. She is as like him as if she had no mother. |
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"Did you only just hear of it?" the boy asked. "It was in June. It is a shame you could not come to the funeral feast. Everyone enjoyed it greatly." |
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The boy stood quietly, his arms around Ian's neck, one small hand patting the knight's shoulder consolingly. His voice, however, was cheerful, irrepressible. In the midst of his tears, Ian choked on laughter. Alinor's son. Kind enough to wish to offer comfort but with a spirit that could not be quenched. He squeezed the children to him tightly once more, then stood upright and wiped his face with the leather inside of his steel-sewn gauntlet. |
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"No, no more bad news," he said to Joanna, and then, smiling on Adam, "I heard in July, but I was with the king in France besieging Montauban, and I could not get leave to come." |
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"Tell about the siegetell!" the boy cried. |
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"Oh, yes, Ian, please tell," the girl begged. |
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The sun came out from behind a cloud, lighting green and gold flecks in the boy's hazel eyes and turning the girl's hair to flame. They were totally unlike in appearance, as if the mother's and father's strains were each so strong they could not be mixed; but that was only in coloring. Adam's hair was straight and black, his skin startlingly white, like his mother Alinor's, but his frame was sturdy and already very large for his age. That was his heritage from Simon, and a good heritage it was. It might be needful, Ian thought sadly, in the bitter times that loomed ahead, if King John did not mend his ways. |
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Ian had not known Simon when his hair was as red as |
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